Absconditus Metus – Hidden Fear
by TheOtherMaddHatter
Summary: We know what happened to Jonathan Crane in his traumatizing childhood, and we know the horrid set of events that lead to him being fired from Gotham University, but we don't know about the missing years.  These are the stories.
1. University High Part I

**Absconditus Metus – Hidden Fear**

**Well folks, here is the fruit of my and a friend of mine's labor for the past few months now. It has been in the planning stages for a while, but now I've finally decided to get it up and running again and start working on it. As my finals come to a close tomorrow afternoon, and I move home tomorrow night for two and a half weeks, I start the new leg in my journey.  
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**So, what is this project you ask? **

**Well, it is a massive Comic-based work that has to do with Jonathan Crane's life in those years that are missing from all the records. We know about his traumatizing childhood, we know about his eventual snap at the University that lead to the unleashing of the Scarecrow, but what we don't know is in the years missing from said history book. These years are what this story, or actually a compilation of mini-stories, is all about. They may or may not be in chronological order, but I do try to work that way, so they more than likely will be. Also, a few chapters may be one story, so I will title them as such. **

**Since I find Jonathan Crane's personality and life so utterly fascinating, I decided to propose this to my think tank pal, Espi, to whom this story is dedicated. She, along with myself, have developed The Murder, and continue to propose and write stories together as we see fit. Without her, this story wouldn't quite be what it could have been. Thank you Espi, for all your hard and dedicated work. Without you, this wouldn't have happened and Jonathan would have complained perpetually. **

**Now, on with the show!**

**I do not own Jonathan Crane. He, along with anything referenced, used, or even hinting at characters from the astounding comic line _Batman_, or any franchise related to or with_ Batman_, belong solely to DC Comics and Bob Kane, the creator of_ Batman_. I take no right to any of the characters in this story, as it is only a work of fiction and fan based love. I make no profit off of this, only take other people's enjoyment out of it. Please, DC Comics, do not sue me for copy right infringement, as that is not the intended goal of this work.  
**

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He'd come by train to Gotham City.

He'd come by train, and it had been a very long, very tiring ride.

Not that his life had been anything but long and tiring, mind you, but Jonathan Crane had found this trip far too long for his liking. This was the first time he'd ever even been out of Georgia, that he could remember, and he planned on never going back…if he could help it.

There was nothing for him back there, in that old decaying mansion that was no longer filled with anything more than rotting wood and dead memories. He'd sold off everything he could from the place, furniture, heirlooms, and valuables if they remained; anything that he could potentially use to get him as far away from his own personal Hell called Arlen, Georgia. That's how he'd found his records.

And why he was headed to Gotham City.

According to the paperwork and all the letters he'd found stashed in his Great Granny's personal writing desk in the corner of her now vacant bedroom, he was the illegitimate son of her great-grand daughter Karen and an elusive man by the name of Gerald Crane…who now worked as a construction manager in Gotham. (Secretly he'd tracked the man down, not that it was overly hard to do.) No surprise there, that he wasn't wanted, not with the way they had treated him all his life. Leaving him alone in that house with her for so long without so much as a word of contact…

What was a surprise was the fact that according to the return addresses on most of the letters and envelopes, most of his family was now located in Gotham or in the suburbs around it. So, that's where he'd planned on going, packing every little thing he owned and selling off everything he could for funding, including a lot of the books in the library.

This was why he now found himself on the Gotham train platform, his measly luggage in one hand, making his way towards the bus stop that would take him to the University. Hopefully it would be there soon, though by the looks of the other patrons waiting along-side him, he doubted that it was ever on time. That was okay, he had all night, and he was here nearly a week early anyways. It was a good thing that the Dean had approved his early arrival, otherwise he'd have had no place to stay. He really couldn't afford to live in a hotel for even a night, let alone an entire week.

It seemed like hours to him, before the bus came, when in reality it had only been forty-five minutes since they'd disembarked from the train. Forty-five long, drug out minutes, spent with him sitting on his luggage, an old book being leafed through as he tucked his scarf further around his long neck. It was only fall here in Gotham, but already the weather was turning cold, much colder then he'd ever felt before, and he didn't have the proper form of attire for such a chill climate. As soon as he came into some money, he'd have to find some decent used clothing, along with other things he'd need to survive here. If not, that he was more than certain he'd freeze to death in the process.

But this city wasn't completely without its charms, he reflected tiredly, no, not at all. It had numerous new libraries to discover and explore, shop upon shop of new and used books, clothing, anything he could think up, he was more than certain he could find. There were even shops for people just like him, people who had not much to live on but more than enough ambition to fuel themselves with. If only he had the money…

But he would, soon.

He'd be starting his new job at the college the day after his arrival, today, and would start looking around for another one for part time hours whenever they could give them to him. He could work and go to school, enough so to keep his head above water and partially out of debt...though he doubted it for long, but it couldn't hurt none the less. But every little bit helped, and so it was with growing confidence that Jonathan Crane boarded the overly late bus.

**xXx**

The ride started off peacefully enough, though Jonathan had never ridden public transit in his life, or a bus for that matter, before today, he hid his wonderment well. And though it reeked of human body odor and a multitude of other foul excrement, and there was a hobo sleeping on the last seat all the way in the back, Jonathan still found it fascinating. Overall, it sort of added to the charm of the city, which served to only douse his flickering flame of curiosity in gasoline.

Even the littlest of things would peak his interest. Like how the people would spread themselves out when presented with the option, or how those left without a spaced out seat would chose their chairs and partners carefully for transit. How they would weigh other people's worth based on few minute observations and a multitude of human stereotypes that he knew they all had. It was intriguing to watch the men find other male partners to sit near, while women sought out other women…and it was utterly attention grabbing.

So much so, that he didn't see the elderly man sit down next to him in the vacant outer seat in his queue. So much so that he didn't see the very man glance over at him and smile in pure mirth and joy at his wonderment, or how he removed his hat and set it in his lap before tucking the legal college-headed print paper into his jacket once more. He did, however, notice the man when Jonathan was promptly hit from one side when the bus lurched into motion, causing him to lose the tight grip he had on the book still in his hands. It went flying to the floor, only stopping to rest at the feet of the elderly man a seat away from him.

Jonathan's eyes fell to the floor as he bent down to retrieve it, mumbling his apologies as he went, his still southern accented voice sounding odd in the stuffy bus compartment, even too his ears. His cheeks were burning; he could feel them, just as much as he could feel the eyes of the older man watching him as he moved jerkily to the floor in a graceless bend. If only he hadn't been so careless to drop the book in the first place, then he wouldn't have had to open his mouth at all and let out that ridiculous sounding voice. It was the bane of his existence, much like his current monetary situation and the fact that he hadn't a clue in a world this big.

Jonathan tried to move quicker, but the man's hand beat him to the book.

Jonathan's eyes snapped up as the hand moved back, drawing his book with it, slowly moving up and towards the elderly man now clutching one of the very last few remaining possessions he carried with him from the manor. The man…the man had his book!

"_Ghosts_…now that's a name I haven't heard in a very long time." The man said fondly, turning the old and rather ragged book over in his hands. "And it is in good condition too. You must take very good care of this book."

The man smiled as Jonathan attempted to straighten himself out, long limbs awkward as he moved to face the man now holding his book, attempting to hold in a variety of feelings as they made their way across his mind and face. He narrowed bright blue eyes behind coke bottle frames taped at the bridge, trying desperately to figure out the motivation behind speaking to someone like him. Not even his own family wanted to do that… So then why did a man on a bus in a city he hadn't even been in for a day want to speak to him?

"I try to take very good care of my books." Jonathan decided to say finally, wincing at how his 'my' came out as 'mia' and his vowels far too long for his liking. Though he knew he was speaking quietly, he couldn't help but feel that everyone could hear him. "They're one of the few possessions I value above all else."

"Indeed, a _good book is the only place in which you can examine a fragile thought without breaking it, or explore an explosive idea without fear it will go off in your face. It is one of the few havens remaining where man's mind can get both provocation and privacy_." The man responded calmly, fingers moving over the spine gently as he looked the book over.

Jonathan paused.

"Edward P. Morgan, correct?" He asked, eyebrow arched at the quote the man had just presented him with. It wasn't an overly used one, or a favored author, but it was one he'd heard none the less.

"Brilliant, just brilliant son, and you are correct. I'm impressed, not many people are familiar with his work." The man's smile was enlightening and encouraging, as if he was truly proud. It made Jonathan feel just a bit warmer, if only just. "Tell me, what about this one? _It is what you read when you don't have to that determines what you will be when you can't help it_."

"Oscar Wilde, of course." Jonathan said, a smile threatening at the corners of his mouth behind the scarf, just barely seen. "Though I haven't quite finished The _Importance of Being Earnest_ just yet, I did read _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ a few months back. His work is rather interesting, I must say."

"You will have to fix that, of course. Finishing the book, I mean." The man held out the book, eyes searching Jonathan's as his head rose to meet him finally, eyes hesitant but intrigued. "And don't worry about the accent, son, it will go away with time. Try not to worry about it too much. It isn't as noticeable as you think it is."

Jonathan could only nod as he accepted the book back, the smile dropping from the corners of his mouth as he turned his eyes away from the man's face at mention of his accent. He was trying too hard to control it, to break himself of the habit it still had lingering within him. It was a stain, a constant reminder of the torture he'd gone through…and he didn't want it. Not here, not at his fresh start.

"Just remember, _the scholar only knows how dear these silent, yet eloquent, companions of pure thoughts and innocent hours become in the season of adversity. When all that is worldly turns to dross around us, these only retain their steady value_." He smiled and patted Jonathan on the shoulder fondly, like a grandparent would do with a smaller child, or what Jonathan had always imagined to be that way. "Rely on others, but most importantly, believe in yourself. You can do anything you put your mind to."

And the man got up to get off the bus, the lingering smell of tobacco, dust, and books trailing in his wake, the impressions and words of Washington Irving stinging Jonathan like a blow to the face.

Oh, he most definitely knew that.

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**Part one of two.**

**All quotes and works of literary fiction are most definitely not mine, and have been named or given homage by the characters. Points if you can guess who the old man is, by the way. **


	2. University High Part II

**Since I find Jonathan Crane's personality and life so utterly fascinating, I decided to propose this to my think tank pal, Espi, to whom this story is dedicated. She, along with myself, have developed The Murder, and continue to propose and write stories together as we see fit. Without her, this story wouldn't quite be what it could have been. Thank you Espi, for all your hard and dedicated work. Without you, this wouldn't have happened and Jonathan would have complained perpetually. **

**Now, on with the show!**

**I do not own Jonathan Crane. He, along with anything referenced, used, or even hinting at characters from the astounding comic line _Batman_, or any franchise related to or with_ Batman_, belong solely to DC Comics and Bob Kane, the creator of_ Batman_. I take no right to any of the characters in this story, as it is only a work of fiction and fan based love. I make no profit off of this, only take other people's enjoyment out of it. Please, DC Comics, do not sue me for copy right infringement, as that is not the intended goal of this work.**

**Signed,  
The Murder  
**

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The bus ride had gone relatively undisturbed since the older man in the tweed jacket had gotten off, leaving Jonathan alone in his silent thoughts, swirls of books passages and quotes from an author he almost detested but loved all the same, swirling in his mind. He'd forgone reading the book since the man had left, unable to concentrate for longer than a few moments due to the drifting thoughts he'd gotten. Now he was examining the ends of his rather long scarf, one he'd picked up back in Georgia before he'd left from an elderly farm wife who probably mistook him for someone else going off to college.

But he'd accepted the gift none the less, his manners and self-preservation kicking in as he did so, even going so far as to put it on for her, regardless of the hot Georgia sun and temperature as it pressed in around him and his suffocating, stick like frame. It was a deep maroon color, something he'd never worn before, but the woman insisted was 'his color' or some such nonsense. Even now he was silently thankful for the forethought; especially since the weather was far cooler here then it had ever been at home, even during their winters.

And with what he'd seen so far since arriving here, it was only going to get colder in the months to come.

He was just hoping his sighs weren't getting increasingly audible. He was getting enough strange looks as it was, what with the way he was dressed and all…not to mention his luggage and the shabby condition it was in, much like his own self. All he really needed was yet another reason for people to run screaming in the other direction from him, not like they didn't already do that.

That thought alone made Jonathan's lips twitch in a smirk behind his scarf, which was now pulled up and secured around the lower part of his face, concealing his mouth and neck from the frigid air pouring in from the gap in the window on his left. At least they couldn't see him react to his own thoughts, or at least not that he could see from the spot he was in. It didn't matter anyways; his stop was coming up next, according to the map pasted above the cabin entrance.

Although he wasn't sure how to get the bus to work in his favor upon getting on it, he now knew how to stop it at his request simply by watching what others did around him. It was a simple trick he'd learned over the years, one that got him less punishment if he picked up on subtle things most people wouldn't watch or care about. (Things like what the bullies talked about in school, their facial expressions, how his Great Granny walked even. All indicators of something that could potentially be life threatening.) That's how he knew that going into Psychology was the right thing for him…

The dim bulb flickered briefly before flashing out as he pulled the cord that would get the bus to eventually stop, the squeal of breaks and the audible ding of an overused bell the only signal to his arrival to Gotham University.

Yes, Jonathan thought, it was going to be a good start to a brand new life.

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**Two of Two. **

**First story complete. **


	3. Creepsville Craw

**I do not own Jonathan Crane. He, along with anything referenced, used, or even hinting at characters from the astounding comic line _Batman_, or any franchise related to or with_ Batman_, belong solely to DC Comics and Bob Kane, the creator of_ Batman_. I take no right to any of the characters in this story, as it is only a work of fiction and fan based love. I make no profit off of this, only take other people's enjoyment out of it. Please, DC Comics, do not sue me for copy right infringement, as that is not the intended goal of this work.**

**Signed,  
The Murder**

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He first saw her when walking to his Physics lecture on Tuesday morning.

Not that he'd known that he'd seen her, but he had seen her none the less.

It had been a relatively nice morning, cool and a bit breezy, but for late September in Gotham, that was nice weather. He'd worn his scarf, an article of clothing he never seemed to leave behind in this dreadfully bleak city, so that his neck would stay warm through the holes that lined his jacket's nape. The wind never seemed to die down when he was outside, and it was for that reason that he'd started taking the very path that he was on now. At least the trees blocked a bit of the weather out, if only just a fraction.

It wasn't really bothersome anymore, just habit really that he'd started walking through the park-like side of campus during this time, ever since the wind had picked up and the fall season had slowly progressed further and further into the oncoming winter. The trees and shrubs blocked out a good portion of the elements, so keeping warm was easier for him in this element than it was on the hard cement walk ways and mental lined trails that littered campus. It also didn't hurt that he found the odd trees and the foliage calming and beautiful.

And besides him, there were few others around now.

Jonathan knew that others were aware of his…antisocial tendencies and often times odd behavior. He was perfectly fine with that, actually, since it allowed him space and time to himself, as well as significant breaks from the bullying intentions of his roommate and his idiotic friends. (Lance Hastings and his jock friends never saw fit to give him even a moments bit of reprieve, and Greg, his other roommate, could only be there to stop so much.) It was for this reason that he often didn't stick his neck out, in a manner of speaking, to talk to other people in his classes. In the end, they were more than likely to reject him anyways.

In fact, if someone were to ask him about it, he would have responded with his common cold glare, which, of course, meant he was beyond content and overly ecstatic at the prospect of a night alone to scourer the library's contents. Alone…all alone, even when he'd made the taxing effort to befriend others; and still walking to school by himself. It couldn't be any better than that, not in his opinion.

Until the noises started, that is.

They were low at first, just a soft murmur of movement and noise within the branches above his head, something he could pass off as a squirrel or a figment of his recently over active imagination. But as he continued to walk, his ratty bag swung over his shoulders tightly, he could hear them grow louder…and closer. And even if he wanted to ignore them he could not, because they were familiar to him, so ingrained into his brain that he was quite sure he'd never forget them. No, these noises weren't a figment of his brain…and they weren't pleasant.

Because he knew what they were

He'd always know what they were…

A flock of birds…very large ones too, if the noises were anything to go by.

But he couldn't stop here, no, not in the center of the potential flock of birds that was threatening him unseen from the tree tops above him. He couldn't stop somewhere he had no control, no say, no defense. It would not end like it had so many times in Georgia…he would not allow it. He'd beaten it there, and he was going to beat it here too. Birds be damned.

So he increased his pace swiftly, feet striking semi-damp pavement in the early September morning, wanting nothing more than to be someplace else on campus…his room even, with or without Lance or Greg. Bullies he could deal with, had dealt with, but birds…he'd never really been able to face them before. At least, not out in the open like this. Not with a fighting, or in this case running, chance.

Not that he'd ever gotten the chance, because at the exact moment that he started to move along the path again, something large and dark swooped down towards him, aiming itself directly at his face. Whatever it was took firm hold of his glasses in its passing arc and stripped his face of them, leaving him temporarily blind and more that a bit disoriented. He couldn't see much without those stupid things, as his vision was fuzzy at best, so he couldn't quite see the culprit or where they had gone too. But, he could hear clearly the sound of skittering, like bird's feet, across the pathway before him.

Jonathan froze as his eyes found the dark, blurred shaped blob on the path before him.

It was a bird…a rather large bird.

A bird that had his glasses.

He could faintly make out the glittering form of them as the bird moved, the lightly catching the large and round frames easily, as if mocking him. He was more than certain that whatever sort of avian pest this was, it was larger than a common sparrow or finch. No, this monster was at least the size of a parrot, if not larger…and he was fairly sure he wasn't exaggerating.

It was a large, dark bird then, with the Hell-bent intent of making his life a walking, living, breathing nightmare. Did the birds back home somehow migrate with him to Gotham? Certainly not! That was just…preposterous, right? No, Jonathan refused to believe that his brain had come up with such a childish explanation to an entirely common problem, and that this bird was out to get him. Normal birds didn't just attack people out of the blue and steal their glasses! In fact, he'd almost bet that the bird hadn't taken them, that it had nearly knocked them off his face and was now sitting by them. Yes, that was it…

So slowly he got down to his knees to pat about towards the bird, hoping to scar it off with his movements enough so that he could relocate and collect his glasses once more. But every time he seemed to get close to the bird, it'd hop backwards, taking the shiny form of what he thought were his spectacles with it. That flying feather duster had indeed taken his glasses!

"Give those back! I require them to see!" He snarled at the thing, trying anything within his limited, visionless power to do to get them back. But the bird didn't seem to want to release them.

He tried again.

"I said, give those back!" This time he followed through with a lunge after his shouting, which only seemed to get him a nice bed in the dirt and absolutely nothing to show for it. "Blast you, those are mine!"

But it didn't matter anymore what Jonathan had said, when he heard the cawing from around him in the bushes as well as the trees. They weren't alone anymore, and without the aid of his glasses, he most certainly couldn't see to defend himself. Needless to say, he was out of the park faster that he'd have liked to have been, his face still without the adorning set of glasses it usually wore.

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**Yes, this is Craw. If you figured that out, you get a huge cyber cookie. She is indeed a Black-Billed Magpie, as stated in the comics. And it is possible that he met her later in life, but seeing as Magpies live for up to forty years, I figured I'd risk it and introduce her now.**


	4. And Behold Thy Mistress Fair

**I do not own Jonathan Crane. He, along with anything referenced, used, or even hinting at characters from the astounding comic line _Batman_, or any franchise related to or with_ Batman_, belong solely to DC Comics and Bob Kane, the creator of_ Batman_. I take no right to any of the characters in this story, as it is only a work of fiction and fan based love. I make no profit off of this, only take other people's enjoyment out of it. Please, DC Comics, do not sue me for copy right infringement, as that is not the intended goal of this work.**

**Thank you for everything and everyone who commented or noted me about this. I appreciate it, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Five is almost done I think.  
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It hadn't been a week later, and a new pair of glasses, that Jonathan found out that the stealing bird that had taken his spectacles was in fact a Black Billed Magpie that had gotten lose from one of the testing facilities on campus. It had been part of a small flock that had escaped when one of the researchers left the birds alone in an outside cage, and they had found a way out of the enclosure. Now it, along with about ten of its brothers and sisters, were lose to harass the students around campus, as magpies were notorious for the stealing of shiny things.

There wasn't a musical number named _The Thieving Magpie_ for nothing, after all.

On top of that, it had been approved for students to try and capture the birds to dispose of them, as the campus officials had deemed them a nuisance after a pair of them had attacked a group of sorority girls on their way home from a football game. Jonathan, who had _not_ deliberately gone to look up magpies after he discovered their identities, was certain that all those who tried would most likely fail at capturing them anyways. But, it was possible that watching such interactions could be beneficial to his…interests, as watching some of the male students make fools of themselves in front of the school's female population was rather hysterical.

The pie-balled menaces were proving entertaining at best, though that's where he had to draw the line as he had yet to find the black and white devil who'd stolen his glasses not a week prior. As the library's books had suggested, most magpies are notorious kleptomaniacs that would basically collect and thieve anything bright and shiny for its own nest. To think, somewhere on campus, a bird had put his own large framed glasses into its nest made Jonathan's blood boil. Those were his, and he'd had to waste too much of his savings on purchasing a new pair!

But as he walked through the familiar overhanging foliage of the park path, the same one the bird had snatched his glasses in, he couldn't help but feel a bit…warm at the thought. Even if it was a bird, it had shown enough interest in him to steal his glasses, even if it was for its own selfish reasons, and for that reason he had decided to not stop taking the parkway path to and from his classes. Even if he did see the menace again, he'd devised a way to keep his glasses from being snatched off again. The thin rope tied to each side of his spectacles kept them from both falling off and from being taken forcefully; he'd made sure to it.

So, feeling utterly full of himself and his decidedly creative new way to keep the birds from thieving from him again, he started off down the parkway for an utterly boring set of Friday classes. He was quite sure he knew more about books than his bushy-headed literature professor did, and though his accent was still atrocious, he was quite proficient in the art of both reading and writing for English. In fact, the only class he did look forwards to on Fridays was his psychology class that he took with Professor Brammowitz, the man he'd accidentally met on his first bus ride in Gotham. (Not that he'd known it at the time, but had later found out when the man had shown up in his classroom lecture to teach.) Yes, that was the only reason for him to actually enjoy Fridays, he decided, and continued on towards the psychology buildings.

Until the pained cries of something clearly of lesser origin rang out through the still air in the wooded area he was in. It sounded like cries of pain, something he was very familiar with, but it also sounded like a rather large bird, something he wouldn't touch with a twenty foot pole. The fact that he heard laughing after each squawk of discomfort and pain was the only thing, _the only thing_; that got him to stop and head towards the noise at all.

Or so he told himself.

It wasn't because he felt an odd kinship to whatever it was in pain, not only for being in pain to begin with, but for being laughed at as well. It wasn't because something within himself felt oddly pulled in the direction of the cries of plight, and it most certainly wasn't because he felt bad for the constant pain and torture the thing was going through. After all, it was of the same family of devils that had tortured him in his youth, and throughout his cries of pain and pleads of help, not a single one of them had ever stopped. No, it wasn't for those reasons at all.

But one can only fool themselves for so long, and as Jonathan came upon the scene to find Lance Hastings and about four other football players throwing rocks and other projectiles at a hopping, clearly injured bird, his resolve to not help the thing broke completely. Not even he could force himself to be immune to the pain and suffering that this being was clearly going through, as it couldn't escape from the boys torturing it because its wing was laying useless to its side in the dirt. So, with a forced front of bravery, he shouted at them to stop throwing rocks at the critter and to leave it alone.

However, it didn't go as he had planned, and before it was all said and done with, he too was lying face down in the dirt, his nose bleeding slightly, books and paperwork scattered everywhere as the boys laughed at his plight before walking off. Oh well, at least they'd focused their attentions on him instead of the hurt bird still sitting off to his side, even if they had beat the stuffing out of him yet again. Regardless of his state of health, he had to count this as a victory and pulled himself up to a sitting position, adjusting his glasses as he went so that they were once again right on his face.

"You're more trouble than you're worth, did you know that?" He shot nastily at the bird, which only looked at him with a head cocked to one side and a loud reply of 'kraw!' itself. "Well I couldn't very well let them do that to you, you know, regardless of what your kind has done to me. It's not proper for a man to let another man hit a lady."

Jonathan stood up, his nose in the air to keep the blood from getting onto his shirt anymore than it already was, and calmly started to repack his belongings into the side satchel he was using, fully intending to leave the bird alone as he continued on to class. (Why he'd looked up how to tell the bird sexes apart was beyond him, but he'd done it, and he could clearly tell this one was female, and was most definitely the one who'd stolen his glasses because he recognized the patch of white near her head.) But, as he walked, he could just barely see the bird moving along behind him, trying and failing to gain altitude as it flapped its useless wing. Every time he turned around though, the thing only looked at him and called out loudly, making him flinch and back away. It always seemed to close the distance though, and no matter what he did to rid himself of its presence, it didn't ever leave.

"You've been domesticated, haven't you?" He said finally, giving up as he ran a hand through his long and shaggy hair tiredly. By now he was long late for his Literature lecture, and the thing was still following him expectantly. "Figures, I suppose, that you would be since you and your fellow spawn were kept in an enclosure in the research department. I suspect they wanted to breed you too…see how far the line of intelligence in captivity goes."

A resounding "Kraw! Kraw!" was the only response he received.

"It figures that the only being alive who would ever want to talk to me would just so happen to be you, wouldn't it? I suppose this is my punishment for being a bastard child." No sound came from the bird before him. "Hmm, what was that? No snide remark, devil? It's true, you know, I am a bastard child, and an illegitimate one at that."

"Kraw ka ka!" Flutter, flap, flap. "Skraw-ska!"

"The books say you can understand and even learn words. I suppose that this, however demeaning and unappealing it is for me, is what one would call a conversation. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say this is more stimulating that most of my conversations with other residents of this university." He smirked at that as the bird let out something he labeled as a bird laugh. "Yes, that's quite what I thought too. Well, I suppose if you're going to follow me, and I'm already late for class, that I might as well bring you along. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to risk still being here after I leave and those dunderheads come traipsing back."

The bird sounded only happy to agree.


	5. Perfectionist Paralysis

**I do not own Jonathan Crane. He, along with anything referenced, used, or even hinting at characters from the astounding comic line _Batman_, or any franchise related to or with_ Batman_, belong solely to DC Comics and Bob Kane, the creator of_ Batman_. I take no right to any of the characters in this story, as it is only a work of fiction and fan based love. I make no profit off of this, only take other people's enjoyment out of it. Please, DC Comics, do not sue me for copy right infringement, as that is not the intended goal of this work.**

**Two chapters in one day, goodness, this has to be a new record!  
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* * *

**

Smuggling the loud and overly obnoxious bird into both his English and Psychology lectures had been something of a challenge, but Jonathan Crane was nothing but an ambitious, overzealous student and competitor. He reveled in the face of a challenge such as this, and the thought alone that he and his mind were the only things keeping him from being caught was thrilling. Not to say that he wasn't actively trying to be brilliant, but his mind never ceased to amaze him. And even the bird seemed to know a good plan when it saw one, though it sure had squawked up a storm when it'd first let him touch it. (Her, it is a female… Jonathan tried to remind himself.)

But, surprisingly, the bird kept quiet through most of the lectures, only shifting about inside of his bag a few times, making a bit of noise that only drew the attention of students in the chairs nearest to his own. (Not that they were overly close, but even a few chairs away was still close enough to hear a bird that was nearly seventeen inches in length move about.) And she was hurt, he supposed, so that wing couldn't be anywhere near comfortable all folded up in his ratty bag as such. Actually, he supposed it probably couldn't be all that comfortable in the bag at all. So, even when he did stare at the bag for making noise or told it to hush, he didn't really put any anger or emotion into it, not really, and it wasn't because he felt bad for her.

No, most definitely not.

He'd only had to tell the bag once to stay still and remain quiet in the course of his psychology lecture, and even then it was more of a need for him to make sure the damnable creature was still alive in there, as she hadn't moved in quite a while. It didn't help matters any that every time he found himself starring down at the bag or being distracted from Doctor Brammowitz's lecture, he'd always catch the older man's eye on the way back to his focusing on the material once more. But the professor never stopped teaching to scold him, and he never did anything but smile in his direction when he finally did catch his eye. Jonathan immediately assumed the worst, and, when Dr. Brammowitz called lecture to a close, he prepared for the worst.

"Ah, Jonathan, do you have a moment?" The elderly Professor's voice called out lightly, but emphatically.

Jonathan froze in his place as he attempted to escape scrutiny, turning around to trudge back to the front of the hall, eyes cast to the floor in shame, bag cradled tenderly at his side. He could feel the familiar, or as familiar as it had been all day, weight inside the bag, and the slight warmth that the bird put out as it rested in their silently. But now they'd been found out, and Dr. Brammowitz would question him not only about his lack of attention in class, but also on what he had in the bag that made him so distracted. He'd ask to see it, and then he'd take her away from him…he hadn't even gotten a chance to name her yet! Or find out where his glasses were!

"Yes, Dr. Brammowitz?" He asked carefully once he was standing in front of the man, eyes downcast as he tried desperately to tuck into himself. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, no need to look like you've been walked to the gallows, my boy!" The man said happily, patting him lightly on the shoulder as Jonathan peered at him from over the top of his glasses carefully. "Although I must say, I'm awfully curious as to what had your rapt attention all throughout class today. It isn't like you to be unfocused like that, and at first I was a bit worried about it, until I saw you looking at the bag so carefully. May I ask what's inside that has your attention so wrapped about its finger?"

Jonathan's head shot up in utter fear, hands unconsciously gripping at the bag as he tried to control his fight or flight response enough to stop shaking violently and actually formulate a response to the questions that the man before him had asked. He couldn't very well lie to him, after all, not only had Dr. Brammowitz been the first person to talk to him in Gotham, but he was also a mentor, and dare he say it, a figure for him to look up too. He had everything Jonathan could ever hope to achieve, so the thought of lying to the man was way out of the question.

But he couldn't very well tell him the truth either. No, not with what the truth actually was, as said truth was currently an injured-deemed-pest by the university on the swift road to execution stuffed into his satchel. He felt a strange bond with her and nothing short of forceful extraction from his hands could take her away from him while in his right mind. He had to protect her, which was odd in itself.

"Jonathan, are you quite alright? You've gone deathly pale and you're shaking…" The man said, suddenly concerned. "Is something wrong? Are you in trouble, because you can tell me if you are? I can help you."

"N-no, I'm fine Professor." He said, stuttering only once as he diverted his eyes again, drawing his back closer to his body without putting too much pressure on it in fear that he'd not only hurt the bird within, but cause her make noise in the process. They couldn't afford that right now. "And there's nothing wrong, I'm not in trouble, I was just distracted today by a train of thought. It won't happen again, I swear."

"I'm not saying your distraction was a bad thing, no, quite the opposite. You take everything in your student career so serious and always put forth so much effort, I was just curious as to what had distracted you from your pursuits today is all." The man's smile returned to his voice, comforting him little. "I was merely curious, and you should know that you can tell me anything."

"R-Really?" Jonathan finally ventured, finally making eye contact with the still neutral faced man before him. "I don't want to burden you, and it'll only get everyone into trouble."

"What will?"

"Her…" He said, head moving to one side as he nodded towards the bag now cradled in his arms, though the movement itself was vague and could have easily been interpreted as a shrug instead of a nod. "They were picking on her, and I thought that… Never mind, Professor, I'm sorry to have bothered you and disrupted your class. It will not happen again."

Jonathan heard his mentor sigh heavily before moving away from him, a silent dismissal if he ever heard one, and he felt a stabbing pain in his chest. It was guilt combined with an extra portion of let-down he felt radiating off the elder man's back as he moved back towards the lecture to scoop up his notes to take back to his office. He couldn't help but feel that the man had entrusted him with something precious, only to have him take it and not return the favor. This is what mistrust felt like, Jonathan realized, and he felt bad.

"Professor, wait…" He said finally, just as Brammowitz was leaving the room, his back once again too him. "Do you…do you know anything about Black Billed Magpies? The libraries aren't all that stocked on information about them, not that I was looking or anything."

"Isn't that the type of bird that was being kept in the research enclosure recently? I believe a flock of them escaped just a while ago." The man smiled a bit, and Jonathan realized the man knew exactly what was going on just from the tiny sentence that he'd uttered. "Don't tell me you've managed to catch one of the elusive little devils? I heard from half the faculty in my department alone what a hazard they are, and just how difficult they are to catch."

"I, uh, didn't really catch her so much as I just, you know, picked her up." He said at long last, trying to judge what he should say and how to say it. Anything short of just flat out taking her from the bag and stuffing her up beneath the Professor's nose was going to be tricky. "She's hurt, anyways, or I doubt I'd have caught up to her again."

"Again?" Damn, he'd said too much already, now the man was asking where he'd encountered her before-hand. "Have you been in contact for this particular bird for long? It is rather odd that any sort of Magpie, domesticated or not, would let someone unfamiliar even go near it, let alone pick it up."

"Her, professor, it's a she…or at least, I think it is." He said, tapping his finger to his chin lightly before adjusting his glasses slightly. "But I don't think she would have had I not, um, well…helped her out a bit."

The last part he said hurriedly and rushed, jamming all the syllables together into one seemingly long word, accent thick in his panic and praying to whatever god may or may not have been out there that his professor hadn't caught all that. By the slightly startled look on his face, Jonathan would say that his plan and subsequent spewing of words was enough to totally throw him off. Good, he didn't think that he could deal with retelling how he'd stood up for a bird being bullied and subsequently got the snot struck out of him himself. That wasn't pleasant in the least.

"Pardon me? I'm afraid I didn't catch all that…must be my old age and poor hearing." He continued to smile, which only caused Jonathan to back up away from him even more. "I could have sworn you said that you'd rescued her. If that were the case, she'd be one lucky lady."

"Well not that lucky considering her wing is in poor shape." Jonathan said just as quickly, completely forgetting himself before his eyes got wide and he slapped a hand over the top of his mouth quickly in shock.

He hadn't meant to say that!

The old man had tricked him!

The old man in question only chuckled lightly, waving his hands for Jonathan to follow him into his small office off the main room of the lecture hall, tucked neatly away in a corner closet looking space. It was the first time Jonathan had been back here, never once stepping foot into the man's office hours in fear of bothering him more than he already did in class with his constant questioning. Overall, the atmosphere was cramped but cozy, the lingering odor of tobacco, paper, and ink staining the air happily in the musty room. Jonathan decided rather quickly that he liked it, and that alone put him in a bit better mood as he followed the man and sat in the seat across the desk.

It did not, however, put him anymore at ease.

The Doctor was going to take his - dare he say it? – Friend.

The bird, not matter what he thought of her kind, was now his friend.

His only friend.

"Oh would you stop your worrying and relax!" The doctor said, chuckling as he too sat down at his desk, hands holding what looked to be an old sleeve of crackers. He must have found them while Jonathan had been busy studying the office, not that he was surprised or anything. "I'm not going to write you up or any such nonsense. You've done nothing wrong."

Then why was he here, exactly?

Jonathan could see no other reason for himself to be here, in Dr. Brammowitz's office, after class and long before office hours with his injured…bird-friend thing. If he hadn't done something to upset his mentor and professor, than what had he done? There was absolutely no logic that Jonathan could find to rationalize why he was here at all, let alone why the man had crackers and insisted he "relax" and more than likely be asked to take a seat. He didn't want to relax or take a seat, not when he didn't know what was going on.

It must have read on his face, his confusion, because while Jonathan watched Dr. Brammowitz from the corner of his eye, the other man seemed to watch him and his clearly distraught form. And it was this that caused the older man to grow more and more concerned and Jonathan to grow more and more confused, as well as upset and uncomfortable. His grandmother had always had blue eyes, the same color as his own and ironically Dr. Brammowitz, but her eyes had never looked like his did now. They'd never had whatever she was feeling in them light up the way his professor's did in this very moment.

"Jonathan, please: sit down. You're not in trouble, nor are you going to be reprimanded."

He'd said nothing of the bird, and so it was with silence that Jonathan's fears of being all alone once more would come to fruition. He was to take the bird from him, then, and most likely destroy it. Not that it'd be too awfully hard now, not when she was as injured as she was. The jocks had certainly done a number on her with their rocks and hatred, just as he knew they would always do. Just as they always had. He knew, probably better than anyone else, what it was like to be on the end of the hatred and persecution, even if it was for something you had no control over. He knew…

Jonathan's heart felt something he could explain as a twinge passed through it, and his insides felt as if they'd just frozen up. He was pale by nature, but currently he'd hazard a guess that he was paler now than he normally was, and he knew for certain he was shaking harder than he had in the last few months of his life. This was fear coupled with something he couldn't explain, the sheer bitterness of terror when facing down something you knew that would happen regardless of how hard you fought against it.

This was Fear of Loneliness.


	6. Duly Noted, You Can Leave Now

**I do not own Jonathan Crane. He, along with anything referenced, used, or even hinting at characters from the astounding comic line _Batman_, or any franchise related to or with_ Batman_, belong solely to DC Comics and Bob Kane, the creator of_ Batman_. I take no right to any of the characters in this story, as it is only a work of fiction and fan based love. I make no profit off of this, only take other people's enjoyment out of it. Please, DC Comics, do not sue me for copy right infringement, as that is not the intended goal of this work.**

**Have some final-stress production and enjoy! **

**AM-HF: Chapter Six**

* * *

Looking back, perhaps fleeing Professor Brammowitz's office like he'd done wasn't the best idea Jonathan had ever had. In fact, it probably wasn't even in his top ten list of brightest ideas he'd ever had, let alone anywhere near the best. But it was what he had done, choosing to flee for his and his new-found friend's life instead of sit there and let them take her away from him.

Sit there and let them take the only friend he'd ever had in his entire life away from him because he'd botched up and taken her to class instead of somewhere safe and secure like he should have done. Would have done if he hadn't been so thoroughly blinded by the prospect of finally having a friend to call his own. Really, he should have seen this coming.

And even as he found himself running, sprinting practically, across campus, he couldn't find a shred of thought as to why he'd not fled in the first place when he could have or where he was going to take his new found companion from here. The apt description of his running was more like "Flying Like A Bat Out of Hell" and all that analogy-esque stuff related to his relative speed. But the swift movements and the rushing wind helped him to think -to clear his head- and for once feel like he was flying, flying away, like he'd so desperately wanted for all those years. Fly away like the rest of the birds doomed to meet him in the fields and rotting chapel.

Fly long and far and as fast as he could, just so he'd never have to look back.

Fly like the bird nestled in his arms.

The bird herself -now sitting happily in his arms- hadn't so much as made a noise since he'd snatched her up in a cradled position to run from the office, for which he was grateful. She seemed to rather understand his need for silence as they both fled their potential captors. And though he had been aware of her kind's relative amount of intelligence, it didn't really strike him just how much of it she had until that very moment. And what it would mean for him in the long run when they saw him talking to a bird like she was his equal.

It was bad enough people treated him like a loon upon first meeting him anyways, let alone how they'd treat him after they saw him dashing about campus making odd bird-like noises, even if it wasn't him making them. Even if it was never him making the insane gestures or accusations or actions in the first place. It didn't matter to anyone, especially his peers. Then the name would come back. The dreaded nickname that he so dearly hated, hated more than anything, even more than himself.

Scarecrow!

He was not a Scarecrow.

He was not!

Regardless of his thin stature, his rail like limbs and scrawny torso, his beakish nose and sharp features, he was not a Scarecrow by any sense. He was many other things, yes, but not a Scarecrow, not something that couldn't even frighten away birds. That was useless and destined to be left to rot in a field where no one would ever see or love it. He would not be a Scarecrow! He would have someone to love and who would return the love.

"I'm not a Scarecrow, I'm not. I'm not..." He rasped, his breath hitching as he continued in his mad dash back to someplace safe, anywhere safe, tears slipping past his barriers. "And I'm going to fix you. I'm going to save you, because you're going to be my friend."

Jonathan Crane's mind was made up.

The bird would stay with him forever.

**xXx**

When he'd found a deserted place among the foliage of the small park off to the side of campus, far out of sight of everyone, he'd eventually stopped running and began to really put his brain to thinking. That's what he was best at, after all, and this would not be the exception. He would help her no matter what. No matter who threatened them, he would keep her by his side. But there were questions that he just couldn't answer at the moment. Questions that needed attending too as soon as he could possibly manage it.

How could he help fix her wing? Where would he take her that wouldn't hurt her in order to get her wing fixed? Where would he keep her? Would he be able to keep her safe when he couldn't even keep himself safe? How would he protect her from others who would seek to hurt them both?

But most of all: How would he do any of this in the first place?

"I don't...I don't make enough to take you to a real animal clinic." He said sadly, his voice startling him with its emotionality. "And what with having to buy a newish pair of glasses, my savings isn't enough to cover it either. I have no way of treating your wing and regardless of how many books I've read, I doubt I have the sufficient knowledge to tend it."

"Kraw-aw aw!" The bird said, its scratchy tones quieter now, as if in agreement with his pathetic statements. She hopped a bit on his legs where he'd set her, dragging along her injured appendage behind her as she went. "Skaw ah."

"Yes, well you should have picked someone with more money then." He said tightly, eyes down cast as he stroked her feathered head and breast lightly with his index finger. "As it is, I can barely afford to stay here, and the savings was going to be for a coat or in case of emergency. I don't have enough now for the coat anymore, so I might as well attempt to find you a vet who will see you."

The bird's head bobbled up and down twice in rapid succession, and Jonathan smiled lightly at it, a ghost of a smirk that hadn't shown on his face in years. This bird was indeed more intelligent than the researchers at her enclosure gave her credit for. And, even though he'd not had any contact with the others of her group -most of whom had been caught by now or destroyed- he would venture a guess that it had been her that helped orchestrated the escape. But that might have been his wishful thinking for a companion that was smart enough to talk with him on an equal level.

But she seemed to be more than smart enough, she'd found him after all, and even though he knew she had to be in some amount of pain due to her damaged wing, she seemed happy enough. Her somewhat heavy body was a constant pressure on thighs now as she settled down to burrow into his shirt and scarf. It was a bit nippy out here now, the wind blowing slightly harder than it had yesterday, and more than it had since the last storm they'd had come through the city. Even if it was getting later and later in the fall, it wasn't quite cold enough yet to justify the purchasing of a heavier coat, so the money would be well spent in helping out Craw, which is what he'd decided on calling her.

Craw, just like the sound she made when she spoke to him.

It wasn't an overtly clever name, like Poe's Raven Nevermore, or a classical name like something out of a history book, such as Alexandria or Anastasia, but it was oddly fitting. And she seemed to like it well enough, and even responded to it when he told her that's what he'd decided. If her enthusiastic speech was anything to go by, then she was totally onboard with his ideas. Not that he could understand her for the most part, but she still answered yes or no questions with little difficultly, or what he assumed was little difficulty.

"So do you know of any good and reasonably priced animal clinics nearby, my dearest Craw?" He asked, tucking his scarf closer against himself and the bird on his lap, her head nestling tightly into the fabric. "No? Well I don't either, and short of going to find someone to ask for help, I don't even know how to go about looking for one."

"Kra-ah-ah!" She agreed sullenly, making Jonathan wish he could tell her differently. "Skraw!"

"You know, I wish I could fix this. I wish a lot of things, actually, not that anyone cares really, but I wish that-"

The snapping of twigs and gravel off the path approaching where he was sitting alerted Jon that he wasn't quite as alone as he thought he was. And that he had potential company to his inner most thoughts and wishes standing just on the other side of some larger trees to his right. No, most definitely not what he wanted.

So he tried to keep quiet and stay in as small a ball as possible, to draw the least amount of attention to himself and Craw as possible. Hopefully whoever it was that was on the other side of the tree would grow disinterested and wander off without bothering them both. Would wander off and leave him alone with what little company he was ever going to get.

That they'd just go away.

"Jonathan? Jonathan, I thought I heard you from over here..." A familiar, elderly voice said from just around the way, tentative and hopeful. He most definitely knew that voice. "Please, I didn't mean to scare you, or whatever it was you thought was going to happen. I'm not going to hurt your new found friend."

But Jonathan didn't know if he trusted Dr. Brammowitz with Craw's health or not.

"Kraw! Kraw! Kraw!"

Well apparently Craw did.

* * *

**It's finals time again, and even though I appear dead on most levels, I'm still kicking. And this has been smacking me about the face for a while now, but I just got around to writing it out.  
**


	7. A Foot In The Door

**I do not own Jonathan Crane. He, along with anything referenced, used, or even hinting at characters from the astounding comic line _Batman_, or any franchise related to or with_ Batman_, belong solely to DC Comics and Bob Kane, the creator of_ Batman_. I take no right to any of the characters in this story, as it is only a work of fiction and fan based love. I make no profit off of this, only take other people's enjoyment out of it. Please, DC Comics, do not sue me for copy right infringement, as that is not the intended goal of this work.**

**Have some final-stress production and enjoy! **

**AM-HF Chapter Seven**

* * *

The panic he felt in those few moments of tense silence and shrieking bird cries, was enough to last him for a life time, of that Jonathan was sure. On top of the overtly stressful day he'd been having before Dr. Brammowitz had figured out what held his attention so raptly, he now added in the fact that he was broke, out in the open, and fleeing from a well-known, tenured professor with a vermin-labeled escapee bird. All in all, he could say with certainty that this day had been more than stressful enough. And if this all kept up, he wasn't sure how much more stimuli his over-worked system could handle before he, quite literally, snapped.

He was already shaking hard enough to nearly fumble and drop Craw once.

Jonathan really didn't want to try for a second time.

Not to mention that all his adolescent and awkward fumbling was harming Craw in his already damaged state, causing her to cry even more, even if he didn't mean to do so. And he didn't mean to do it. It was a never ending cycle of nerves and pain for them all, especially when Dr. Brammowitz came fully around the edge of the tree and met his eyes, his own rapid ones trying to find an escape, anything but his mentor's gaze. Blue on blue for an eternity before the elderly man spoke again, his tone light and comforting, hands up and spread in a non-threatening manner. Like he was trying to approach a threatened and cornered animal instead of one of his students.

"Jonathan, I'm not here to do anything you don't want. I only wish to help you treat your new found friend." He said soothingly, not moving again when another tentative step earned him a flailing motion as the young Crane tried to move backwards quickly, only to bump into the trunk of the tree firmly. "I only want to help you."

"No, you don't." Jonathan said in a moment of panic, his eyes darting again now, trying to look for a way out. Anything to keep the distance between them. "You really, really don't."

Dr. Brammowitz smiled sadly, the tight-lipped motion reminiscent of finding something to be true that you had wanted desperately to be false. Like he'd proved himself right to an unknown question that Jonathan himself couldn't even fathom. What did the man have to be so sad about anyways? It wasn't like Jonathan had said anything that wasn't true, and he was the one with the injured companion. People didn't want to help him, ever, and so he didn't need some false sentiment when it was clearly untrue and most definitely unwanted. No one wanted to help him. He was used to it.

So then how could he ever possibly suspect that Dr. Brammowitz's fear about Jonathan Crane's childhood had been more than confirmed in those few words only moment before? It was still difficult for the younger man to read people accurately, so he didn't see the flashes of pain at understanding that the boy thought he was totally unwanted before he put his head down to tuck it into his chest. He didn't see when Dr. Brammowitz's thoughts about his unusual friendship with a kinless bird suddenly clicked into place, two outcasts and unwanted souls finding one another and clinging as hard as they could for as long as they could while they were afloat in the sea of the world. And he didn't see the hope that maybe if someone where to show this boy that they cared, that maybe Jonathan Crane could understand and grow to accept it.

Jonathan Crane just couldn't see it.

"Then if you do not want my help, perhaps it could be given instead to your new found lady friend? She looks to be uncomfortable there." He tried again, this time from a different point of view, hopeful to get Jonathan's attention back onto the bird, rather than himself. "And I know one of the on-campus veterinarians that could-"

"No." Jonathan interrupted forcefully, the sound odd coming from his mouth, the interruption even more so coming from the shy boy before him. "They will hurt her or take her away. She is mine, and they can't have her back. They'll hurt her like the did with the others."

"I can guarantee that they will not, Jonathan. Dr. Roman is a good friend of mine, someone I've known for years. He will not harm an animal that needs his help, regardless of what his peers would do or say." He said, trying to reaffirm the point of safety that he could help provide. "He's no ornithologist, but he'll be better than anyone you could find in Gotham City Proper."

Jonathan growled lowly and pulled himself back tighter against the tree, his arms drawing up as his body hunched forwards slightly, making himself appear smaller than he truly was. A lesser target, Dr. Brammowtiz's mind supplied, a small threat. One not worthy of his time if he had been a lesser man. But Doctor Avram Brammowitz wasn't a lesser man.

He'd noticed the subtle signs of child abuse in the boy the moment he'd met him, back on the bus. The young man had pressed himself as hard as he could into the wall of the bus and the seat, trying to get as far away from the other occupants as he could without appearing to do so, subtly trying to hide in plain sight. Later he'd noticed other things, the passive, withdrawn way that Jonathan went about his life, complying with authority figures without question, his emotional maturity lacking in someone of his age. He was always watchful, mindful of his surroundings even in the safety of the classroom, which was the only place that Avram had seen him truly appear happy or in the least bit content. Jonathan was always early to class, and though he'd rarely approach his professor with questions he so clearly wanted to ask, he'd always stick around to listen silently in the background while others posed their questions, eager to learn but hesitant to ask.

And now, the shrinking away when someone was trying to help him...it was all too clear what had happened to this young man during his life. There were no physical signs that he could see outright, but how could he? Jonathan always wore baggy, shabby clothing that covered nearly every inch of his body. What Dr. Brammowitz could see was the young man's face, his hands, and bits of his ankles poking out when he walked or sat down, due to the incorrect size of the pants he often wore. All his garments had holes in them, or were well worn in places, some even having large patches stitched hap-hazardously over them in spots. Even if there was physical evidence that supported the abuse theory, which was more than just a theory now, it was possible that Jonathan would never let anyone near enough to see it.

Dr. Brammowitz feared to ask the questions that were now coming unbidden into his head. All the signs of abuse were there, emotional maltreatment evident in everything Jonathan Crane said or did...or didn't do. The evidence was so overwhelming that it was hard to treat the situation as delicately as it needed to be treated, just because he was enraged at whoever had dealt this cruelty to the obscenely bright child that stood before him. One whose eyes were far too old for his physical age. Jonathan had been a child who had seen too much far too soon, the horrors of the world revealed to him at such an early age in the most frightening of manners. He wanted to know who could do this to someone as bright as this boy, how they could cast him aside like he was worthless.

But he couldn't ask.

Not right now, it would undo what little trust remained between them at this very second.

And right now, he needed Jonathan to trust him.

"I'm not going to take your pet, Jonathan. She has nothing to fear from me." He said calmly, evenly into the space about them, watching the coiled spring that was Jonathan Crane carefully. "I only wish to help. I promise."

Jonathan glared at him, taking in his face and posture, judging and attempting to figure out the best course of action himself, regardless of whatever his professor said. Regardless that this professor was the only one he'd ever really approached before of his own free will, that he'd wanted to talk with at length about so many things. On the one hand, he felt that he could trust this elder man, whose eyes held something in them besides pity that was directed towards him. On the other, he felt he could trust no one as far as he could toss them, which given his physical limitations, wasn't very far. Jonathan Crane was conflicted and stressed, which made for a poor setting conductive to mental rational, but he was not going to let that stop him. He was going to fight this. He was going to win. He was going to become the man he'd always wanted to be.

"Craw, her name is Craw." He said finally, slowly unfurling from himself like a hesitant snake in danger of being struck down. Ready at a moments notice to curl back into himself if the situation called for it. "And I think...I think we'll follow you to see your colleague. I cannot fix her wing myself, and I do not know if I can find someone who will help her like she requires it."

Upon looking up, Jonathan met eyes blown wide with understanding and astonishment.

With pride and joy and some emotion he could not place.

And for the life of him he couldn't figure out what had put those emotions there.

* * *

**That was almost painful for me to write. I feel like researching child abuse doesn't even begin to touch the topic adequately, let alone have enough to decently write a character that has obviously been abused to the point of psychological damage. But it needed out there, and I believe that in his earlier years at Gotham, besides Craw, Jonathan would only ever be close to someone he deeply respects and looks up to to teach him things, which left me with Doc Brammowitz.**

**Who is, mind you, a leading psychologist and practicing psychiatrist. He'd be able to recognize the signs of abuse and neglect in Jonathan. Most of them are so apparent I can pick them out of the comics when I read them. And there are emotions that Jonathan doesn't really understand, which could be yet another reason why he is so fixated on the topic of Fear. That was one of the only emotions he was exposed to as a child. It would make sense he'd be fixated on it.**

**And if you feel I wrote this wrong, or portrayed something incorrectly, please let me know. I want this to be realistic and as accurate as possible. Thanks for all the help, and let me know what you think!  
**


End file.
